It's been a week since Ilyas Shurpaev's death. There are 720 messages on his Odnoklassniki.ru page now. And 241 on his last blog post. Rest in peace, Ilyas. That's what most of them say, more or less.
Channel 1, for which he worked, is a shithole. After watching part of their Sunday newscast, a dear friend made a comment that totally broke my heart: their coverage is so outrageous, so full of crap, and because of that, Shurpaev deserves no pity. Something along those lines.
There's a number of nasty comments on Shurpaev's blog, too, but it's easy to ignore them. Most seem to deal with the fact that he was Muslim and non-Russian.
But when someone you know well and love a lot switches into that ruthless LJ mode when talking to you in person - knowing full well how you feel - it does hurt.
And Shurpaev, someone I've never met and read only occasionally, felt like a friend.
Internet is such a strange place.
I really regret having never commented on any of Shurpaev's posts.
And I still can't forgive myself for not smiling to papa when I saw him for the last time in my life.
It's so easy, to leave a comment and to smile, isn't it.
On the day Shurpaev was killed, I explained to Marta that I was feeling very sad - and, can you believe it, she looked at me as if she understood and told me that she loved me. And later, when I cried watching a news report about him, she told me she adored me.